The Shaman Forest Stands Silent
“Do you know the principle behind magic activation, Young Master Seolhwa?”
The forest by day lavishes fruits upon the animals and offers shade to those foraging for herbs.
“Uh… I don’t really know what you mean by ‘principle’… Sorry.”
The forest by night simply falls silent.
“No need to apologize. So, do you know how magic is used?”
“Hmm~ I can’t use magic yet myself, but my magic teacher said it’s about projecting—or was it permeating?—your will onto things using the mana inside your body. Something like that.”
Conifers thrust skyward like spears. Branches so dense no light can seep through. A wind that chills the marrow. Beastly howls echoing from the unknowable dark.
The silence of the night forest was noisy and raucous.
“Theories vary by scholar, but magic fundamentally starts with the ‘mana’ inside the body. Of course, there are catalysts like wands or magic stones… but let’s save that for later.”
“Anyway! Magic uses mana to move or transform surrounding objects according to the shaman’s will.”
With that, the man tossed his torch into the air. Defying the natural law that should have sent it tumbling to the ground, the torch floated steadily between him and Seolhwa.
“W-Wow! You didn’t do any preparation for the magic!”
Seolhwa’s eyes sparkled like a child beholding a new toy.
He seems just like any kid his age…
“Shamanism looks the same in terms of results. Would you like to try lifting the torch once?”
He hesitated, as if it might vanish at his touch. After a light breath to steady himself, Seolhwa mustered his courage and grasped the torch with both hands.
“Well done. Now toss it to the ground like I did.”
Praise makes even griffins dance, they say. Buoyed by confidence, Seolhwa flung the torch boldly.
Once more, it hovered, rejecting gravity. At the same moment, the man slipped one hand behind his back.
“Huh?”
Oh ho?
“What’s wrong?”
“Uh… well, you know, I haven’t used magic myself, but I’ve seen my teacher do it.”
“Yes.”
“Magic uses mana, right? So that… I could feel the mana before, but just now… how could that be?”
The man’s lips curved into a smile at Seolhwa’s mutterings.
“The first torch was held by magic, but the second by shamanism. Impressive that you sensed the difference, Young Master Seolhwa.”
“Pardon? Oh, th-tha…! No, thank you!”
His reaction suggested he wasn’t used to praise—enough to stir pity in any onlooker, unlike other boys his age.
To distinguish magic from shamanism by feel alone. It took me five years to master that…
A bittersweet mix of pride and envy softened the man’s face.
“You said you didn’t feel any mana?”
“Yes. D-Did I sense it wrong?”
“No, you sensed it perfectly. Shamanism requires no mana. So, Young Master Seolhwa—what does it require?”
Little Seolhwa plunged into confusion!
Magic needs mana. It’s as obvious as “people must breathe.” Ask a farmer plowing his field in some rural backwater, and he’d look at you like you were daft for not knowing.
Of course, not everyone can use magic. All beings are born with mana, but awakening the talent for it is a gift.
Yet the concept of magic is commonplace. Hero tales slaying evil dragons always feature wizards aiding knights. The kid playing knight with a stick has a pint-sized mage in a straw cape by his side. Village festivals end with traveling wizards launching fireworks in dazzling colors.
Thus, mana for magic is practically common knowledge.
But shamanism?
I don’t know. What do I do… I’ve never even thought about it. Should I just say so? But what if he scolds me… or gets disappointed and won’t teach me anymore?
Anxiety spread like jagged twigs. The tutor’s scolding voice echoed in his ears: You don’t even know the basics as a noble?
His gaze dropped to the dirt, thoughts grinding to a halt.
“Young Master Seolhwa.”
“S-Sorry! I was wrong!”
Even as a bastard son, how badly must they have treated him…
The man’s face darkened briefly before donning his gentlest mask.
“It’s natural not to know. This is your first lesson, isn’t it? If you don’t know, just ask.”
“Huh?”
“How could you know everything from the start? That’d be the strange thing. While we’re on the topic, shamanism…”
A tear like a shooting star fell from Seolhwa’s eye.
“W-Wait, why are you crying? Was my face that scary?”
“Huh? No, I’m not—huh?”
It was the first time. The first time someone said it was okay not to know. That it was natural, and soothed him for it. The unfamiliarity made his body rebel, refusing to accept the feeling. No matter how hard he squeezed his eyes or pinched his nose, the tears flowed like a breached dam.
Thump. A hand like a pot lid covered Seolhwa’s head.
“……?”
Unable even to speak now, Seolhwa lifted his tear-streaked face.
“Sometimes it’s faster just to let it all out with a good cry.”
This, too, was the first. Someone saying it was okay to cry—that such a person existed in the world. The strangeness bred suspicion. He says that, but if I really cry, won’t he scold me too?
So the boy stifled his sobs. He couldn’t stop the tears or the shaking shoulders, but he killed the sound as best he could.
“Feeling better now, Young Master Seolhwa?”
As the torch on the ground flickered out, Seolhwa wiped his eyes with his sleeve, nodded, and looked up.
“Sniff! Teacher, I’m fine now… Huh? Teacher?”
Gone. The teacher who had just petted his head had vanished into the forest dark like a snuffed flame.
“Te… Teacher? I’m not crying anymore. I won’t cry from now on either! Teacher!”
[Crying isn’t bad. Healers from the distant East say it’s even good for your health now and then.]
A whisper like the teacher’s voice drifted from between the dying torch flames.
“Teacher, where are you?!”
[Back to your earlier question… To use shamanism, you must be able to hear the ‘whispers.’]
“Pardon? Whispers?”
[Yes, the whispers. They say magic at its peak creates something from nothing. Shamanism does so from the start.]
“What does that mean, Teacher? Ah… the torch is going out.”
[Wish for it desperately, from the heart. For the torch to reignite. If you have the talent for shamanism, you’ll hear the whispers.]
It might be too soon, but with talent to discern magic and shamanism at once… who knows.
The torch went out completely. Tiny embers swirled like dust, only to be crushed by merciless dark.
Eyes accustomed to light rejected the gloom. Open or shut, primal terror enveloped Seolhwa gently.
“Te… Teacher! Teacher?”
Awoo!——
“Eek!”
‘The forest after sunset is a whole different place. Even though we hunt regularly, packs sometimes stray near the fences, so be careful.’
The hunter’s warning against entering the night woods resurfaced.
Cold wind seeped through his armpits, ruthlessly stealing warmth.
“Te… Tea, Teacher…”
Still, he swallowed his whines of fear. The teacher had vanished after seeing his tears—what if this sniveling drove him away for good?
Instead, he fixed his gaze on the fallen torch. Staring wide-eyed, clasping hands and tensing his body.
Please, please light up…
Awoo! Awoo!——
“Gasp!”
It wasn’t a stray wolf—it felt like the whole pack descending. Blood-hungry beasts closing on fresh meat stripped of light and warmth.
His body trembled, teeth chattering. Crouching, clutching the useless torch—nothing changed.
“Te, Teacher! No matter what I do, it’s not working…”
Crack! Awoo!——
Something heavy snapped branches. Blood-scent wafted nearby, or so it seemed.
“Ugh…”
His reed-thin hands paled from gripping the torch rod so hard.
His eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark—and that made it worse, shadows stirring within.
“Light up, light up, light up…!”
His parched pleas scattered like wind. The cold torch shed not even a spark.
Grrr…!
His body froze. It’s an illusion… please let it be. He glared at the rod, praying.
Tears he thought stopped leaked anew.
Please, please…!
No voice left now. Forest winds howled in his ears—
Kyaao! Crunch! [Behind you.]
Something heavy leaped. A voice—whose?—rang out.
* * *
“…ease spare me. Please spare me… sir.”
“Mr. Ilka. The vice warden’s crying now.”
“Haha… time to wake him, I suppose.”
In Utopia’s guard post of reddish-brown timber, Seolhwa huddled insensible on the staff lounge bed. What had happened at last night’s Palatium? Lipstick smeared his face, a lady’s corset cinched his waist.
“Vice Warden. Vice Warden. The sun’s high noon.”
“…eacher. Teacher!”
“Whoa!”
As Ilka shook his shoulder to wake him, Seolhwa bolted up like a sprung coil.
“Yow, you scared me… Feeling better?”
“Where am I… ugh, my head… Mr. Ilka?”
“One of Utopia’s guard posts. You came this morning in Lord Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek’s carriage.”
“Me? What the hell happened yesterday…”
“Looks like you had quite the wild night. Best wash up first.”
The guards behind snickered, offering a cup. True to Manrmursk—ice-free, yet teeth-achingly cold.
“Thanks. Whew… but why’s breathing so hard?”
The guards burst into laughter; even Ilka struggled to hold it in.
“What…? Why’re you all laughing?”
They pointed to the lounge mirror instead.
There, another self—prettily made up, corseted—sipped from the cup.
“What the—!?”
“Once you’re cleaned up and clear-headed, we’ve got to head out together.”
“But look at me… head out?”
As Seolhwa frantically shed the corset, Ilka quietly fingered the check in his pocket.